THE DRAWING-ROOM.
It is quite useless to attempt to have a pretty drawing-room, unless the
owner really means to have it in constant use, and intends to sit in it
regularly. I am quite convinced that rooms resent neglect like human
beings do, and that they become morose and sulky-looking if they are
kept closed, or only opened when strangers are expected.
It is no use then to bustle about to arrange this antimacassar, or to
put yonder chair just a little bit out of its constrained position, to
put flowers in the vases and books on the tables, in a spasmodic attempt
to give an air of life to the dead chamber. Something will betray you,
the chill atmosphere will inevitably chill your friends, your constraint
in an unaccustomed room will communicate itself to them, and you will
infallibly all be as stiff and unhappy as you can be, without perhaps
being able to define the cause.
Therefore, as your room is to be lived in, let me beg of you to buy
nothing for it that you cannot replace easily, to have nothing gorgeous,
or that will not stand a certain amount of careful wear and tear, for as
sure as your room is too grand to be lived in every day, so sure will
your acquaintances find you out, and put you down at once upon the list
of dull folks to be avoided, that we all of us keep somewhere mentally
or otherwise.
A light hue for a drawing-room has been found to be a necessity ever
since the days--those awful days--of white papers covered with gilt
stars. There is always something a little depressing about the evening.
One is tired with the day’s work, worried by domestic duties, or
disappointed at the very little fruit the long twelve hours have given
us; and therefore we should be careful to arrange our evening-room with
the intention of having cheerful surroundings, if we can have nothing
else, and that is why I should like to have our drawing-room in blue, or
else in yellows and whites.
I must say I still hanker after a dado, because in the drawing-room I
like to hang all sorts of odds and ends upon it, which give an original
air to the room, and also insures favourite photographs, fans, or pretty
hanging baskets with flowers in being close to one’s chair, or near
one’s eyes, should we wish to look at them. A very pretty effect is
obtained by stretching a cretonne material round the base of the wall
for a dado, hiding the nails with a dado rail of bamboo. Liberty’s blue
and white cretonnes are invaluable for this, but then it is rather
difficult to
[Illustration: FIG. 15.--Drawing-room at Gable-end, Shortlands.]
obtain a blue paper to match. Still it is to be done and we are repaid
for the trouble, I think, by the effect when it is up. A
yellow-and-white paper looks charming with a blue dado, also a
terra-cotta paper and paint are not amiss, though I confess myself
rather disappointed with this effect in a drawing-room I once had; but
then the paint was put on in my absence, and I feel convinced it was not
the shade ordered. If people are really tired of dados, and will have
none of them, the walls can be papered blue to within about two feet of
the top; then a frieze of pale yellow and white can be put on either of
paper or cretonne, the join hidden by a rail, on which are placed hooks
which hold pictures. These then are brought down to the proper level for
light, and are not suspended out of vision, as are so many paintings and
engravings in houses of people who are artistic enough by birth and
education to know better; then, too, by using these hooks the great
expense of picture-rods going all round the rooms is saved, without
damaging the walls either by hammering in brass-headed nails.
I think a panelled room painted blue for a drawing-room is perfect; but
unless the house that Angelina takes is panelled already, this is no use
for her, as panelling is expensive work, and would be the landlord’s
property, too, when the lease is up, so that is out of the question.
Still, I know of panelled rooms yet existent whose owners look at their
grained walls and wonder how they can make them less hideous, and
perhaps some of them may see this book, and may resolve to do away with
that terrible eyesore, a grained device, and set to work to paint the
walls a delicate sparrow’s-egg-blue, furthermore embellished by long
designs of rushes and grasses, either stencilled or painted on by some
one of the many girls who can paint, and who can be found always at Mrs.
McClelland’s studio, should we number not one of those useful damsels
among our acquaintances. Whatever style of decoration is adopted, I hope
we may have a blue wooden mantelpiece and over-mantel; brass bells,
brass locks and handles to the doors, and finger-plates must replace the
china abominations provided by the landlord; but these must be carefully
marked down as belonging to the tenant, and the china ones must be put
away carefully too, to replace the brass ones again when Angelina’s
lease is up, or she will have to feel that her money has gone into the
landlord’s pocket, which is never a cheerful subject for contemplation.
Now for the carpet, the style and price of which can range from 35_s._
6_d._ to almost any amount that you like to spend. The cheapest ones are
the Kidderminster squares, which can be purchased at Mr. Treloar’s, on
Ludgate Hill, or at Shoolbred’s or Maple’s. In fact, at the risk of
being vituperated by these gentlemen, I say, in low tones of caution, go
to all of these establishments, and, taking as usual plenty of time over
your choice, see all the blue carpets they have: at one or other of the
shops you will be sure to see exactly what you want. I do not think the
cheap squares are ever really artistic; but they are inoffensive, and
most wonderfully inexpensive, and wear beautifully. Still, the colours
and patterns are not quite my beau-ideal of a carpet design, but beggars
cannot, alas! be choosers, and if we must really be very economical we
can but be thankful for these carpets, because they replace the hideous
Dutch carpeting and frightful ‘Kidderminsters’ that used to be the
portion of such of our ancestors as could not afford Turkey or
Axminster, and had to fall back on these, and on the ‘best Brussels,’
the crude and frightful greens and reds of which haunt my dreams
sometimes, when I am meditating on furniture and remember the days that
are no more; being duly and sincerely thankful that they are no more, as
far as carpets and furniture in general are concerned.
Rising above the ‘squares,’ we ascend to the delightful blue carpets,
also in Kidderminster, that are sold by the yard. I once possessed one
which was the joy of my heart, which I bought at Shoolbred’s. But I took
a friend there the other day, having roused her to enthusiasm over mine,
to find no more were made; ‘for customers,’ said the polite man who
served us, ‘will insist on novelties, and grumble frightfully do they
see the same goods on show as they saw some years ago, whether or not
that they were as pretty as they can be. No, the cry is always for some
new thing.’ And so we could not buy any more of my blue carpet, and I
look at the one I have apprehensively, and cannot bear any one to walk
upon it, because I know, once gone, I can never replace it. It was about
4_s._ 6_d._ a yard, and wears beautifully. However, we were shown
another that quite put my poor carpet out of court, both in colour and
design; but then it was 5_s._ 6_d._ a yard, and though that did not
matter to my friend, fortunately, it mattered to me; and so I was left
carpetless, until I saw some beautiful self-coloured felt, which looks
very well with rugs on, but shows dirt, and what housemaids call ‘bits,’
in rather a depressing manner. However, blue carpets are to be bought, I
feel convinced, and they are certainly worth the search.[1] If money is
forthcoming for a really good carpet, I should propose, first, the blue
Kidderminster, at 5_s._ 6_d._ a yard, made into a square, and edged with
woollen fringe, put down over, first of all, brown paper, and then a
carpet-felt. This insures warmth, and trebles the chances of wear.
Secondly, a really good Oriental carpet with a good deal of white in it.
Mr. Smee has a charming one, that harmonises beautifully with blue, and
that costs about 10_l._ for rather a small room. Thirdly, one could have
a nice matting (putting this down over the brown paper) at about 1_s._
6_d._ to 2_s._ a yard, with good rugs scattered about. These are
expensive items, and would cost 8_l._ or 9_l._ to provide enough, and of
the right sort; but the wear of really good rugs is marvellous. I have
two large ones I bought at Treloar’s nearly ten years ago; they are in
the dining-room, where there is a great deal of wear and tear, and they
are as good now in appearance as the day I bought them, but I think they
cost me a little over 2_l._ 10_s._ each.
[1] Since writing the above I have found my blue carpet at Messrs.
Colbourne’s, 82 Regent Street, where it can always be procured.
Of course, if we spend on our carpets we must be prepared to save
elsewhere; our curtains need not cost us much. They can be either yellow
and white, or blue and white Liberty cretonne, made to the height of the
dado rail, just to draw along the windows from top to bottom to exclude
light and to hide the room from outsiders when it is lighted up, thus
saving the great and useless expense of blinds, and they can be lined
with some cheap material, or made double, and then, white ones being
fixed as described later on, last a long time without washing, and can
be either made of figured Madras, with a good deal of colour in it, at
4_s._ 6_d._ a yard, double width, or of fine muslin and guipure, which
washes beautifully--a quality I have never discovered in the many Madras
muslins that I have bought, because I could not resist their decorative
qualities, though I was angry at my own weakness all the time.
Naturally I can lay down no really hard-and-fast lines for decorating a
drawing-room, for so much depends on the style and shape of the chamber;
and what I said of the morning-room applies here equally well. Still, a
yellow and white room, made by using Pither’s yellow and white ‘berry’
paper, with a dado of Collinson and Lock’s ‘47’ cretonne, with ivory
paint, and yellow and white ceiling paper, and a blue carpet, makes a
charming room; while one of the flowery, expensive papers, with a
cretonne dado, is also safe to be charming too. In this case pink must
be used in the ceiling, and the carpet should be either Maple’s ‘golden
pine’ or a very carefully chosen carpet in shades of sage-green.
As to the furniture of the drawing-room, that must be determined on and
regulated simply by the amount of money we have to spend. If we have
plenty we can purchase as many nice deep arm-chairs and small occasional
chairs as we like--then it will only be a matter of taste; but if we are
limited and have little to spend, we must go about our work
circumspectly, and must not mind going into a great many shops before we
finally obtain what will furnish our room nicely.
Here, again, the useful wicker chairs will come in, covered with pretty
cretonnes, made in such a manner that they can have their coverings
removed to be washed; and I should also once more advise one of the
charming square sofas already described. I think I should adhere to
velveteen for the covering, unless we can procure a gold thread
tapestry sufficiently light and inexpensive for our purpose. Messrs.
Maple were the best people to apply to for these goods, but lately they
have not had the pretty ones of old days, change of fashion and need for
novelty accounting for the absence of some of the best designs I have
ever seen; but Liberty has some excellent tapestries now.
If the room have a bow-window, a cosy summer corner can be made by
putting the sofa there, with a table in front or at the side, capable of
holding books and plants; and these tables are, again, things that we
must undoubtedly choose with a great deal of care, for there is nothing
more annoying than a rickety table, or one that is knocked over easily,
should the room be fuller than usual, or should we number an awkward
friend among the members of our acquaintances.
I remember some years ago having to entertain such an individual in the
days when I did not know as much as I do now about the fitness of
things, and I really believe that unhappy man’s sufferings gave me a
lesson about tables I have never forgotten. I was always very fond of
pretty things, and then had the mistaken idea that one could not have
too many of them; so I fear that when we used to go in to dinner from
the drawing-room, our walk resembled nothing so much as Mr. Dickens’s
celebrated description of the family whose rooms were so full that they
had to ‘take a walk among furniture’ before they could get out of the
room.
We were taking our walk among the furniture when the _contretemps_
happened. My unfortunate acquaintance had fidgeted unhappily for some
time, and he finally made a dart towards the lady he had to take in to
dinner, knocking over the chair next him, and arriving at his
destination with a fringed antimacassar neatly fastened to one of his
coat-buttons. He then backed into a small table, on which stood some
books and photographs, and only saved this, to send another spinning;
this time smashing the whole concern, and depriving me of one of my pet
flower-holders, the demolition of which I have never ceased to regret.
But worse was to come: in one heroic effort to get away from the scene
of the disaster he backed once more into a ‘whatnot’ full of china, and
I draw a veil over my feelings and his, as the most merciful thing I can
do.
Still, when next morning I stood among the ruins, like Marius among the
ruins of Rome, I was honest enough to say, ‘This is certainly my own
fault,’ and ‘turning to,’ as the maids say, I so rearranged that long
and ugly room that when next I had a dinner party I was repaid a
thousandfold for my exertions and sacrifices by the expression of relief
on the countenances of the guests, who now saw themselves saved from the
usual dangerous promenade among my belongings that had used to be their
portion. Now fortunately we can purchase tables that are small and
safe, and I think those which are made with double trays, or rather with
one tray under the top, are perfectly safe. They are to be bought
covered with stamped velveteen, or with the pretty stuffs that imitate
Turkish saddle-bags, or with plush, but I prefer them made of plain dark
wood, and either polished or else painted ivory, and the top covered
with an ordinary cloth made from tapestry, or one of Burnett’s charming
serges edged with ball fringe; as, if plants in pots are placed upon
them, drops of water are apt soon to spoil the covering, whereas serge
will stand a good deal of water; although I am of opinion that plants
should always be watered outside the room, on a balcony or in a garden
if possible, as a little carelessness soon spoils one’s things, and I
have, alas! spoilt much by not enforcing this rule both on myself and
others.
Another very good and useful table is the square ivory Queen Anne table,
that has four square rails as an extra support to the legs. These are
about 3_l._, and can be procured in different sizes, when, of course,
the price alters too, and are extremely handy to hold the lamp for
reading books, work, &c., and are large enough to write a note upon
comfortably.
I am a great advocate for corners--that is to say, for giving the
corners of the room an artistic look, and I also like to have my
favourite winter corner close to the fireplace. Naturally, it would be
intensely foolish if we all hankered after a corner. Still even then we
could be accommodated, if we do not mind screening ourselves off from
our fellows in a manner I must say I consider extremely ugly and silly.
It will hardly be believed that in a house I have heard of the mistress
has erected a series of screens in her drawing-room, which resembles now
nothing so much as a restaurant fitted up with boxes. Rather than
suggest such a fearful idea I would abolish screens altogether; yet one
round the back of the sofa is often a great comfort, and, judiciously
arranged, makes the background for a very pretty corner.
But the mistress’s corner can be arranged like this: put straight across
the corner of the wall a small black table, made safe with the
under-tray, and covered at the top with a Turkish antimacassar; this
holds a plant in the daytime and the lamp at night, and is large enough
to hold all the month’s magazines, half on each side of the centrepiece;
above this a black corner bracket for china, crowned by a big pot to
hold grasses or bulrushes, can be hung on the wall; and in front of the
table should stand a square stool, holding a large plant and pot, heavy
enough to hold its own should any one come near enough to knock it over,
were it too light. Then to the left of this, next the fireplace, put
your own particular chair, leaving room for a stool of some kind, that
is broad and low, and can hold your work-basket if you work, your
favourite book, or your newspaper-stand with the paper-knife attached;
and on the desk above and at the side of your chair hang a sabot for
flowers, your favourite photographs, and any pet piece of china or
ornaments you may fancy. One of mine consists of a mandarin’s fan and
case; the case is embroidered in silk, and gives a very pretty bit of
colour, and the fan serves as a fire-screen should any one object to the
cheerful blaze. Needless to add, I never use this screen myself.
On the other side of the fireplace I have a pair of brass bellows and a
brass-handled brush, for I think an untidy hearth disturbs me more than
anything else; and another Japanese fan, tied to a nail by a riband,
which some of my friends find most useful when the fire is hot. Here,
too, I have a really charming chair I bought at Liberty’s. I think it
was 14_s._ 6_d._, not more. It has rather a high back, and a rush seat,
and as the front legs are taller than the other two, it just tilts back,
and is most comfortable. I added a padded back cushion, tied on with
tapes, which adds much to the effect, but none is required on the seat,
as rushes make a very comfortable and easy support, and this chair is
preferred by what is rudely called ‘the master of the house,’ my pet
cat, to any other, and he is a gentleman who really knows what comfort
is. He has made it his study, during a long and honourable life, so I
think I am not wrong in quoting him as an authority.
While not emulating a good friend of mine, in whose house the putting on
of coals partakes of the character of a protracted and arduous ceremony,
I must say I dislike to see coals standing in a room, but the
receptacles made for them in brass are so pretty now that they may
almost be forgiven, though I would rather not see them in a
drawing-room. However, if one is required, the brass baskets, _without_
covers, are the best, and hold quite enough coals for the evening,
indeed more than enough if the grate is as I described before, and
moreover judiciously laid and managed. Brass fire-irons and dogs are a
necessity, but then a little black poker, price 1_s._ 6_d._, called a
‘pokerette’ in the shops, and ‘the curate’ in the drawing-room, must
supplement the brass one, or that will very soon be black and spoiled.
I do not like a rug laid down in front of the fire, for more reasons
than one. I have known a little foot catch in it, and the owner
precipitated with his poor little head on the hard fender; and it always
is an assistance to a careless or dirty housemaid, who is thus served
with a screen should she break one of the rules that should be enforced
in every household, and proceed to clean her grate without first putting
down the rough piece of material with which she should be furnished. She
is obliged to do this should there be no rug, for then every mark would
show, and she would not dare to put down black-lead in a _cracked_
saucer, fire-irons, brushes, and a thin newspaper full of ashes, as I
once discovered a girl doing in an apartment furnished with a wide rug,
that hid this, as well as a multitude of other sins.
While being lived in and used, a drawing-room is and must be essentially
a best room, and is invaluable as a teacher to the untidy or
unmethodical mistress or servant. Fine manners are a necessity, and a
certain amount of fine manners is maintained by use of a room that holds
our dearest treasures, and sees little of the seamy side of life. It is
on little things that our lives depend for comfort, and small habits,
such as a changed dress for evening wear with a long skirt, to give the
proper drawing-room air, the enforcement of the rule that slippers and
cigars must never enter there, and a certain politeness maintained to
each other in the best room, almost insensibly enforced by the very
atmosphere of the chamber, will go a long way towards keeping up the
mutual respect that husband and wife should have for each other, and
which is a surer means of happiness than anything I know--than any
amount of foolish terms of endearment, that are apt to be forgotten when
the gloss of the honeymoon is rubbed off, and life becomes too full of
anxieties and hurry for the old pet names.
Remember, please, I am not writing for votaries of fashion or for rich
people, who could tell me doubtless a great many things I do not know,
but for the ordinary educated middle-class girl who may never leave her
country home until she is married, or may have had few opportunities of
seeing the world, even in London; and she does require, I know full
well, to be reminded that home should not excuse faded finery,
down-at-heel shoes, or slovenliness of mind or body in either husband or
wife, for nothing grows so easily as untidy habits or slovenly manners,
and it is worth a little struggle to prevent oneself or one’s friends
deteriorating ever such a little bit.
The drawing-room would not be complete without a piano, and this is all
too often a very ugly piece of furniture. I am glad to say white frames
painted with beautiful flowers and designs are now being made, and these
are easy to treat, but in ordinary rooms the usual cottage piano has to
be thought of, and another corner can be made by placing the instrument
across one side of the room in such a manner that the performer could
see her audience. This naturally leaves the back of the piano exposed to
view, and, as piano manufacturers still adhere to the red flannel or
baize back, this is not a pretty object to contemplate. However, it is
one that is easily changed, as it can be replaced by either a
crewel-worked piece of art coloured serge, the useful and cheap Japanese
leather paper, or else by a square of cretonne similar to that used for
the curtains; but I prefer either the serge or paper to this. If the
serge be worked with bulrushes and iris and grasses, or with long sprays
of honeysuckle, the effect is charming. Then along the top can be
placed a piece of serge, or felt or damask, worked too, and edged with
an appropriate fringe, which thus makes an excellent shelf for odds and
ends of china and bowls of flowers, as the top of the piano is seldom,
if ever, opened by the ordinary piano player.
If a more careless arrangement be desired, a large square of drapery can
be arranged gracefully over the back, securing it with small tintacks on
the inside of the lid, or a large Japanese screen can be placed before
it; but I think the best thing to do is to replace the baize back as
suggested, not omitting to take out the crude red or green silk or
elaborate carved wood front, and treat that as you treat the back.
I have seen a very pretty front to a piano made out of sage-green silk
worked with rosebuds, or of turquoise-blue material worked in pale
yellow campanulas, or yellow Scotch roses with their brown foliage. I
have also seen a painted front put in, with dancing figures depicted on
it; and, of course, all these arrangements are much to be preferred to
the one supplied by the piano manufacturer, who is the only man, it
seems to me, who resolutely refuses to march with the times, and makes
no effort to improve the appearance of his manufactures.
The chair by the piano can be any pretty chair fancied by the owner. I
have a very nice one in white wood, with the seat covered in Indian
tapestry, which I gave a guinea for at Liberty’s. A very good plan is to
have an extra cushion, attached by ribbon to the side of the chair, for
the use of any one who may prefer a higher seat than we may happen to
care for. This should, of course, be made square, and be covered with
the same material that is used for the chair, and does away with the
necessity for a music stool with an adjustable seat--an article I cannot
endure, as it always shakes, is most unsteady, and squeaks appallingly
whenever there is to be a change in the weather. Another idea for a seat
by the piano is to have a square ottoman, made to open. Two people can
sit upon this to play duets; but I do not care for this very much, as
there is no back, but in a small room it is of great use, as it holds a
great deal of music, is cheap, and does not look badly if properly
covered with a pretty material, nailed on, and adorned with a frill that
serves a double purpose, being highly ornamental and hiding the opening
of the box at the same time. Another receptacle for music can be made
out of one of the small square black cupboards which I have spoken of
before, and which serve as tables besides, if the top be covered with
some sort of a cloth, and books and ornaments be scattered about too.
The grand piano, coffin-like as it undoubtedly is, is far more easily
made into a decorative article of furniture, and while the bend in the
structure makes a capital ‘corner,’ the whole thing can be admirably
arranged if we commence by draping the entire end with some square of
material, or, if we possess it, with a length of old brocade or an
Indian shawl. The drapery is placed so that it hangs over the end and
sides, and is secured in place by, first of all, a nice plant in a good
pot, which keeps the cloth in place, and has no effect whatever on the
tone of the piano. At the end I place Leech’s collection of sketches,
which we always call the ‘long Punches,’ in contradistinction to the
bound volumes, and then any small things that I think look
picturesque--not too many, nor any that cannot easily and comfortably be
moved, should I have to entertain a pianist who wishes to imitate
thunder, and cannot do so without having the lid opened widely. A good
arrangement in the bend is a big palm in a brass pot on a black stand.
These brass pots are to be procured at Hampton’s, in Pall Mall East, but
I fear they are very expensive. I have often looked and longed for one,
but never dared purchase it, much as I hanker after such a
possession--they are extremely decorative, and have a style of their
own. Failing that, a nice square table with more plants and books, and a
couple of low chairs, placed in a ‘conversational’ manner, are suitable,
with another plant on a square stool placed in front of the table. This
gives a very finished look to the piano, and I venture to state that
when this is done the piano is not the first thing visitors see when
they enter the room: indeed, I have once or twice been asked if I have a
piano, so little in evidence is this instrument to any one who merely
comes to make an ordinary call. Talking of calls reminds me, before we
leave the drawing-room, to make a small protest about one of the most
idiotic customs that still linger among us--that of making morning
calls; and I should like to see a good deal of reform in this matter.
Formal visiting I never will or can go in for; and I have come to the
conclusion that, if people are only known casually and in such a manner
that to call on them is an effort, to make which we are braced up by the
idea, and cherished with the hope, that the person one calls on,
card-case in hand, will be out, life is too short for such nonsense, and
that calling as per fashion ordained is more honoured in the breach than
in the observance, and that for us ordinary folk, who have work to do in
life, this fantastic waste of time can quite well be given up. I should
much like to see, at the same time, more co-operation in our lives. I
should like more freedom among us, less of the idea that an Englishman’s
house is his castle, and therefore I am always glad to note any step in
the right direction, which is not followed when we set out in our best
garments to make a round of calls.
Of course, people will say, ‘If we do not make calls, we can neither
extend our circle nor keep up our friendships,’ but I really cannot see
how cards conduce to either. That delightful institution of
five-o’clock tea has done more for us, who cannot afford to give big
entertainments, than a bushel of pasteboard; and I am convinced the idea
of calls could be done away with altogether with very little trouble,
and one way of doing this, especially in a small community, is to have
one day, or even one evening, a week, or even a fortnight, when we are
known to be at home and ready to see our friends.
I know some people scoff at the notion of an ordinary middle-class woman
‘aping her betters,’ and having her day at home; but the scoffers should
reflect before they scoff, then, perhaps, they would alter their ideas.
First of all, in a small household the servants can so manage their work
that visitors on the day being expected, are no trouble at all. The fire
would always be burning brightly in winter, the flowers and plants would
be at their best in summer, and the mistress and her room together would
be ready to see any one. I can speak from experience that my friends
always turned up in shoals in dear hospitable Shortlands when I had my
Thursdays, and came week after week to see me, secure of a cup of tea
and a chat after a walk or drive; and I know how the winter sped along
when I felt confident that So-and-so would be in any day of the week,
and that I can ‘turn into’ this or that pleasant room any hour between 4
and 5.30, and find a welcome and a cup of tea ready for me, neither
being in the least less warm because the previous Monday, and the Monday
before that too maybe, my feet took me in precisely the same direction.
In winter these informal gatherings are particularly pleasant, because I
think the hours between the end of your drive or walk and dinner are
occasionally a little depressing, and are not good preparation for the
evening, which goes off much better if we have had a chat in the
afternoon with a friend or two, which takes us out of our grooves and
gives us something to talk about over the meal; while in summer, the
fact that one is at home for certain on one day in the week brings
friends from a distance to see us, and often causes impromptu tennis
parties and little gatherings, all the pleasanter because they are
informal and almost unexpected; while in these days of ostentation and
glitter it is an excellent thing to know how to entertain well and
cheaply, and see one’s friends, without feeling each time we do so that
we are so many steps nearer the Bankruptcy Court. If we contemplate
seeing society in the way I have indicated above, a tea-table is a _sine
quâ non_ in our drawing-room. A very good sort of table is the rush and
bamboo table, with little trays for cakes, that open and close, and
therefore take up very little room in a chamber; there is a second tray
under the top one where spare cups can be placed. And still another
table is the useful little Sutherland table, that shuts up and stands
modestly and unseen in a corner when not in use, and that is brought out
in a moment, without fuss or trouble, and can be used for whist, chess,
or any ordinary game; while a small nest of four narrow tables, adapted
from an old Chippendale design, is an invaluable possession. Closed, the
‘nest’ takes up a very small space, and, opened out, the owner has four
little tables to put about beside her guests, who thus are provided with
places to put down their cups and plates upon, and are thus relieved of
what is sometimes an intolerable nuisance.
The best five-o’clock teacloth is a fine white damask edged with torchon
lace, and with a torchon lace insertion which washes beautifully, and
this should be marked with a large monogram in scarlet thread. A really
large, good monogram has an excellent effect. I purchased my cloths at
Shoolbred’s, who also procured me some one to work the monograms, as I
am unfortunately no ‘stitchist,’ as Artemus Ward would say, and cannot
sew one bit. But they are a little expensive. Still, if any one can work
themselves, the cloths are only 5_s._ 6_d._; the lace comes to about
3_s._ more; and then there is the monogram, which of course could be
saved to any one who possesses cleverer fingers than have been given to
me, but which are now worked for me at 1_s._ and 1_s._ 6_d._ each by a
lady who thus is enabled to make a perceptible addition to her income,
and who may be heard of at the Workers’ Guild, 11 Kensington Square, W.
Other tablecloths have red and blue borders; but I prefer the plain
white with the monogram to any other. A nice bright copper kettle and a
trivet should be always brought in with the tea, and a cosey should
never be forgotten, while buns (home-made buns and scones are most
excellent), biscuits, and bread and butter suffice for quite a large
party of friends, and there is neither extra trouble nor fuss of any
kind. Of course, teacups and saucers are of all sorts and conditions,
but I think small blue and white ones on a china tray are the prettiest
of all, and can generally be replaced should a misfortune happen to
them; while Liberty’s ornamental china cups and saucers are always
pretty, and can invariably be matched.
No room is bearable without, or looks ugly with, plants and flowers, so
I hope that these may always be found in the drawing-rooms, at least, of
any of those who do me the favor to read, mark, and inwardly digest the
pages of this little book.